Warpath
by The13thVasilisa
Summary: Modern AU in which the US is still a British colony. Sarah Phillips just flew in from England and is staying with a friend of her mother's, meeting his two charges, James and Henri. Of course, tensions are rising between the Americans and the British, and her arrival couldn't be more untimely.


Title: Warpath

Rating: T

Summary: Modern AU in which the US is still a British colony. Sarah Phillips just flew in from England and is staying with a friend of her mother's, meeting his two charges, James and Henri. Of course, tensions are rising between the Americans and the British, and her arrival couldn't be more untimely.

**a/n:**

**so in my modern AU, nothing is actually modern except for the technology. There is still slavery, a ban on women doing anything but teaching (no votes), etc. thanks. **

**I am sorry if I am slow on updates as well. :)**

* * *

The airport wasn't empty by any measure, so no one particularly noticed a girl in the corner by a trashcan; book under her arm and cell phone in her hand as she dialed a phone number.

The phone picked up on the first ring.

"Mother?" Sarah managed before her mother could say anything.

"Hello, Sarah, is anything wrong?" Her mother sounded worried.

"Sort of," replied the redhead. "The Dover isn't flying. They canceled the flight because it's snowing in Philadelphia. I'm going to take a cab home."

"Hold on." Her mother responded. A rustling sound came for her end for a few minutes. Sarah thumbed uneasily through the novel she had brought with her. She didn't like being here alone, especially when she didn't have a concrete plan.

Finally her mother's voice came through the phone. "It's the luckiest thing. Go to the desk and ask for Phillips on Dartmouth."

"I'm not on the Dartmouth." Said Sarah, confused. "I won't have a ticket."

"Yes, you will, I just made sure of it. It's a cargo plane but it has a few seats, and I talked to Richard the Overseer and he says it will be fine. Get your things and ask for the ticket, and call back if it doesn't work out, alright?" Sarah nodded, then remembered she was on the phone.

"Yes, Mother."

"Have a good flight, Sarah, be sure to call me as soon as you get there."

"I will. Goodbye." Sarah ended the call and started towards the ticket booth, pulling her sweater closer around her and fingering the locket her father had bought for her just before he left for America.

_Goodbye, London. _

**It** was three o clock in the December afternoon—school was dismissed and cars rolled down the street, their exhausts puffs of smoke in the cold Northern air. **It** was an average city house; steps down the front and empty flower boxes in the windows that didn't open. **It** was a boy sitting in his bedroom with a pad of paper and a pencil.

There was as much quiet as there ever is in the city in the afternoon except for the sound of pencil on paper.

James' writing was interrupted by Moses, calling himself and Henri downstairs. James ran down the stairs and was dismayed to find Henri already there, who triumphantly cried, "First!"

"First loser." grumbled James. Moses rolled his eyes.

"Enough of that, you two. I need to talk to you."

"What's the matter, Moses?" asked Henri.

"There's nothing the matter." said Moses. "But Dr. Franklin just wrote me and he informs me that we're to have a guest visiting. The daughter of his friends the Phillips. From England."

"What? Why?" asked James.

"Because she needs a place to stay in the colonies while her father has a command in the Ohio territories. Her name is Sarah Phillips and her mother is sending her on a plane. She'll arrive within the week."

"Okay." said Henri amiably, and turned to go back to his video game.

"Wait a minute, Henri. I want you and James to clean up the guest room, okay? That's where Miss Phillips is going to be staying."

"But I like to write in the guest room!" whined James. Moses, who couldn't abide whining, raised an eyebrow.

"Just get it done by the end of the week—I'm picking her up Friday. Have you done your homework yet?"

"Um, mostly." said James. "Except for math. And English."

"Um, sort of." said Henri. "Except for language arts and reading."

"Then finish it, you two, before anything else. Henri, get off your game or I'll take the controller."

"But the forecast calls for snow. We might not have school tomorrow."

"In which case you will have nothing to do all day. Get it done, boys."

"Fine." both boys grumbled together.

It did not snow.

Friday eventually rolled around and by then James and Henri had all but forgotten the impeding guest until Moses had asked whether they'd cleaned like he'd asked. (They hadn't.) But that afternoon when the two boys got home from school, Moses was waiting for his charges in the car.

"James, Henri, put your backpacks down and get in. Sarah Phillips isn't coming on the Dover."

"Good, 'cause we didn't do the guest room." said Henri, sliding into the backseat.

"Yeah. I never wanted her there anyway." said James light heartedly, able to speak freely now that there was no chance of her staying with them. "So where are we going?"

"Boston." said Moses. "To pick up Miss Phillips from the airport."

"I thought you said she wasn't coming here!" Henri looked annoyed.

"She's coming on a plane called the Dartmouth. Her flight was canceled so her mother pulled strings to get her on a cargo ship."

"But it'll take hours to get to Boston." said James.

"Do your homework!" suggested Moses, switching lanes.

"I get carsick, Mosessss!" said Henri, to which both of his older companions rolled their eyes.

"Do not." said James.

"Do too!" said Henri.

"Both of you, don't bicker." said Moses. The boys sulked in the back seat.

_Hello, several hour drive_.

Sarah couldn't sleep. She wasn't tired. She had never actually been on a plane before that she could remember, and she was enjoying looking over everything.

The flight attendants had been as helpful as they could, so even though she was one of three people—a middle aged lady and a man—sitting in the short aisle of seats behind what she assumed was the cargo, she wasn't nervous. It was only a few hours flight, so Sarah had already finished her book by the time the pilot's voice sounded over the loudspeaker.

"Landing in Boston—please attach seat belts." Sarah did this, and the she waited awkwardly. There was no flight attendant because it was a cargo plane: consequently she wasn't sure what to do next. The two other people on the flight got up and left, and she felt awkward following them.

Sarah sat anxiously for she didn't know how long before she heard a muffled thud and the plane actually shifted enough that she was glad of her seatbelt. Slowly she walked over to the window and peered out.

She wrinkled her forehead in frustration. What in the world? Suddenly there was another thud, this one coming from inside the plane, rather behind her. She continued to look out.

The cargo doors of the plane were open wide and broken crates littered the runway. There were men swarming around the plane and in the cargo hold. She recognized her fellow passengers among them.

Sarah slipped her book into the pillowcase of the pillow on the seat next to her and sat down on the floor of the plane, in between two seats, hoping no one could see her in the shadows of the aisle. Of course she had heard stories about savages in the colonies but she had never really thought about actually being in danger. This was the twenty first century, for goodness' sake. She took a deep breath to steady herself and waited for them to go, or them to find her.

Moses pulled up to the airport when it was dark. James was hunched over in his seat, reading and holding a flashlight in his mouth to shine on the page. Henri was sleeping, despite his adamant protests that he would definitely not be sleeping ever again because of the unfairness of a guest in the house.

"James, wake up Henri," said Moses urgently, immediately turning off his headlights as the airport came into view. James did as he asked. Something in Moses' voice made him realize that this was not a joke.

"Get out of the car, kids," said Moses, cautiously opening his door. After shaking Henri awake, James did the same. All three stared out at the scene before them.

"Is it a riot?" asked Henri nervously. Moses shook his head.

"It looks more like a protest."

"There's got to be a story here," declared James, heading for the plane. Moses called back to him.

"James, we have to find Sarah Phillips and see if she's on the plane."

"But—"

"Just go, James, and for goodness' sake, be—where's Henri?"

Both of them snapped their heads up to see Henri appearing to have the time of his life on the ship. Every eight year old boy enjoys destroying things, and Henri was no exception. James dashed after him.

It was easy enough to get onto the plane. The real chaos was happening in the back cargo hold, where all of the crates of tea were being kept. They were busily being dumped into the pavement below.

"Excuse me," James yelled over the rabble to the first man he saw, "can you tell me what's going on here?"

"We're protesting the unfair taxes of the King," was all he said over his shoulder. James turned around to see the opening to the seating section of the plane. He pushed the door open and looked around. The lights were off, but there was still some light from the windows.

James was just walking down between the row of seats when something hit him on the back of the head so hard the world flashed white for a second, and he felt the blood rush to the front of his head. He fell on his hands and knees and scrambled back up, looking around wildly. "What just hit me?"

His eyes widened when he saw a girl standing with a pillow in her arms between two of the seats he had just passed. She looked a little bit scared, but mostly furious. "You'll never take me alive!"

"_Take_ you?" James blinked languidly in an attempt to clear his head, utterly confused. "Where?"

"Wherever Indians take people," she said, squinting at him like he was daft. He held into one of the seats for support.

"I'm not no Indian. None of us are," understanding (and properly aligned vision) began to creep back into his mind.

"My apologies," the girl pulled a book out of her pillow. So that was what had knocked his brain around. Now she seemed confused, though still angry. "I thought you were here to kidnap me."

"Kidnap you?" Understanding dawned. "I'm a journalist," He knew he should probably be devoting more time to looking for Sarah then to writing, but he wanted eye witness accounts, and the men in the cargo hold were a bit busy. "What do you have to say about this protest of the king's tea tax?"

"Is that what this is about? Disgraceful. The tea is private property. You can't tell me you're actually agreeing with them, um, what is your name again?"

"James Hiller." A particularly loud bang sounded behind him and both of them jumped. They weren't safe here in the seating section with the large doors to the cargo hold right behind them. "And you're—"

"Sarah. Sarah Phillips of London, England." The redheaded girl glared at him balefully even in their precarious situation. James was halfway finished with 'Philips' before realization struck like thunder.

"You're Sarah Philips?"

Sarah looked at him aghast, clutching her book like she was prepared to use in defense it again. "What do you mean?"

"I work for Dr. Franklin. Me 'n Moses—he's our caretaker—'n Henri were looking for you. You have to come with me."

Sarah shook her head. "I'm not just leaving with people I've only just met, who happen to also condone violent protests like this, in a country I've only just arrived in!"

A yell from the cargo hold made them both jump again:

"Redcoats! Everyone get out!"

James knew going to jail for breaking into a plane to rescue a British girl who might've given him a minor concussion would not be a valid excuse for why he didn't have his homework done that Monday, so he did what any reasonable fourteen year old boy would do: grabbed the redhead's hand and ran towards the doors of the cargo hold, Sarah twisting her wrist in failed, acrobatic feats of escapism behind him.

"Let go of me—!" she gritted through her teeth as they entered the cargo hold, which was basically chaos. Tea was everywhere. Men were everywhere. And most troublingly, British soldiers were everywhere. Still barely holding onto a struggling Sarah, James dragged her through the hold until they reached the two wide double doors. A loading ramp was a direct path to the ground. James (and reluctantly enough) Sarah were making a run for it when Sarah managed to twist around and hit James in the elbow with her book, hard enough that he dropped her arm in surprise. But instead of running away, she just looked around wildly for a second. What choice did she have to follow him? James grabbed her arm again, so they could stay together in the darkness of the hold, and they were almost at the door when another hand grabbed James arm.

It was a man in a red coat and a livid expression.

_Dang_.

He reached for Sarah's shoulder to wrench them apart and into handcuffs, grabbing onto empty air before doing so again, allowing James to dodge his grip and continue to run, Sarah close behind him. The man was shouting things that James didn't bother to catch.

Once off the runaway and in the concrete airport, James sighed in relief. Moses was holding tightly to Henri's shoulder and looking for him. He waved, then ran to him. Sarah followed.

"James," Greeted Moses. "Sarah Phillips?" She nodded, "we have to get a move on. Whatever happened her tonight the soldiers weren't too happy about."

James nodded and that would have been the end of it until a soldier took notice of them. "Oi, you!" He yelled. "Stop right there!"

Moses ran and everyone started to follow Moses. The four ran down the street leading to economy parking. Moses reached out and yanked James, Sarah, and Henri behind a a row of trashcans just under the roof of the parking garage. The soldiers ran past them into the garage, which had eight levels. "That might keep them busy for a time but they'll come back," warned Moses. "Stay. here. I'll get the car."

The three children sat, chins resting on their knees, behind a line of garbage cans and ashtrays. Of course, Henri wasn't satisfied. Breathing heavily from their run, he whispered, "Is this...um..."

"Sarah. And yes." Whispered James. "Shush."

The girl in question was sitting next to Henri and not saying anything, looking vaguely horrified and pulling on a strand of her hair.

After what seemed like hours, Moses pulled up with the car. He motioned to the children, who climbed in. He nodded to the blanket in the trunk of the car, which Henri grabbed. "Hide under that on the floor. I'll just be another black slave lost in the crowd. They would recognize children." The three children swiftly attempted to become invisible underneath the white cloth. While not invisible, it was hard to tell there was anything underneath the blanket in the dark part of the car.

They drove in quiet until Moses came to an abrupt stop. James exchanged a confused look with Henri. By this time his lungs had stopped feeling like they were about to explode, which was nice.

Faintly he heard a question about why he was here. Moses said something about luggage. The man asked a question. Moses said no. James vaguely remembered a story he'd read in school that sounded like this. The Sam-somethingorother, he thought. He knew it was probably time to panic, but he was actually excited.

Moses continued to drive. They went over a speed bump and everyone knocked into each other and disentangled. After what seemed like forever Moses swung his arm over the backs of the seats and said, "You can sit up here."

James sat in one seat. Sarah sat in the other. Henri sat in the smaller seat in between them. James glanced at Sarah, who still looked vaguely horrified. She hadn't said anything since they had gotten out of the cargo hold.

"...hello, Miss Phillips." Said Moses, awkwardly. "I'm sorry about that. We didn't have any idea that would happen tonight."

She nodded. "You can call me Sarah," after a few moments, she continued. "Is it...like this all the time?" She didn't sound frightened anymore, just curious. Moses shook his head.

"No."

"Okay," she replied. Thank goodness, James thought vaguely, that it was a Saturday and that they would not have to go to school tomorrow. Moses turned onto the highway. Eventually Henri was asleep and James was leaning his head against his window. He noticed Sarah was looking out the window. He felt a bit sorry for her. It was a real way to come into a new country. But on the other hand, he was glad the episode had happened. It was about time they showed the Redcoats they meant business.

James' last thoughts before sleep were very grandly revolutionary.

_Two Days Later_

James was eating cereal and having a perfectly fine morning when Moses told him to go knock on Sarah's door along with Henri's to tell them it was time to go. James was shocked. Sarah had spent most of the day in her room on Sunday. The late night had kept all the children in bed longer then usual, but Moses had gotten up at his regular time. Sometimes James wondered if he was human.

James looked at his caretaker like he had spoken Latin. "Moses, she can't go to school with me! She's British!"

Moses sent him a significant look. "Be nice, James."

"It's true." The young man grumbled, savagely stabbing his cereal with a spoon.

"James, I'm serious. Sarah's very new in the country, and after a night like Saturday I'm sure she doesn't like it here much."

"If she's going to be such a Tory maybe she shouldn't have come at all." Said James, more to himself without thinking.

"Just sit with her at lunch, won't you?" Moses commanded, looking up from his computer. James grumbled an affirmative, trudged upstairs, knocked on both doors, and went back downstairs to finish his cereal. Sarah came down a little while later with Henri following her. Henri wanted Poptarts, Sarah wasn't hungry and did they have any orange juice. (They did.)

Henri and Sarah sat at the table, eating and drinking respectively, and James was sitting on a stool by the counter so he almost missed Sarah's offhand comment to Moses after he asked how she was.

"Good, thank you. Although I can't believe I have to do this everyday."

"What?" Asked Henri, not looking up from tearing the 'crusts' of his Poptarts.

"Pick out my own clothes. It's very tiresome." She added quickly, "I used to wear a uniform."

"Sounds awful." Said James, not conversationally.

"I liked it. I could get dressed in the dark."

"Did boys have to wear one too?" Asked Henri. Sarah nodded.

"A tie and a belt, every day."

"Did you go to _Hogwarts_?" Asked Henri, briefly interested. Sarah shook her head.

"Gross," was his response, then, "these Poptarts aren't frosted. I like the frosted kind."

"Don't complain." Said Sarah mildly, putting her glass in the sink. Moses had left, James wasn't sure where.

"I like the frosted kind," said Henri again. James rolled his eyes. Sarah's luggage. Which had been sent ahead of her, was now at the house, and her backpack was some kind of weird flowery-purse-thing. He hoped he wouldn't have to stand next to her. People would look at them weird.

Moses said to get to the car or they'd be late and they did.

"You're late."

Mrs. Laron was not, generally speaking, James' favorite teacher. She taught English. He liked to write, but he got ideas so fast he didn't pay much attention to spelling sometimes, or grammar. And it didn't even matter because Mrs. Laron did not appreciate well-written assignments, just students who could regurgitate her classes onto college ruled loose-leaf.

And James wasn't even in her class first period.

"Well," He said, trying not to say something rude, "I was helping Sarah. She's new. She's, um," in the crafting of this brilliantly articulated speech he realized he didn't know exactly what Sarah was. House-person?

Sarah rolled her eyes slightly and stepped over his foot. She didn't say anything, looking at the teacher expectantly. She caught the hint.

"Miss Phillips, you'll be over there. Behind Marissa. Marissa, wave to Sarah." A brunette with scene hair and thick, slightly crooked eyeliner looked up from completing her Chemistry homework and moved her hand a bit. Sarah sat behind her. Mrs. Laron turned to say something else, but James had been backing out the door for the entirety of the dialogue of seating arrangements and was going down the hall by now. The teacher turned to the attendance sheet.

"Kelsey?"

"Here."

"Derrick?"

"Here..."

James Hiller sat alone at lunch. This was by design. It actually took a lot of effort, because his school was fairly large and most of the time, all the lunch tables were filled, but he usually managed it. He knew several kids who he was friendly with; he just liked to keep to himself during school hours. Still, he wished Henri was there sometimes.

In all honesty, he had completely forgotten about Sarah until she sat across from him with her tray.

"Oh. Hi."

"Hello," she said, and began to eat her food. "Do you mind? Only I don't know anyone else."

"No. I'm good." James didn't say anything for almost ten minutes. He wasn't sure what compelled him to speak, or why he chose such a controversial topic as his beginning. "So what did you think of the demonstration in Boston?"

"I thought it was idiotic," said Sarah heatedly. "I thought it was the stupidest thing I've ever seen. The tea is private property."

"I take it you're a loyalist." Muttered James.

"Of course I am. I've yet to find a Patriot whose ideas about loyalty to the king don't strike me as hypocritical and wrong." Sarah said.

"What about the king's taxes?" Asked James quickly.

"What about the king's military protection?" Sarah fired back just as fast. "The colonists would have perished if it wasn't for the king's soldiers coming to the colonies," a pause. "I can see you're a Patriot."

"Of course I am. Everyone in the house is. We don't get a say in Parliament. We have no representative. We pay taxes and don't get a vote."

"That," Sarah said, "is a completely different issue."

"No, it's not. The King is unfair, and I heard he's crazy. We should declare our independence. It'll be war and I can't wait."

"Then you're crazy. And the King is not, by the way. One doesn't want war, one just has to fight in it."

"Well, we do have to fight in it. Because the King is unfair."

"The King is not unfair. He's behaving as any monarch would. He's using taxes that he gets from his citizens to run the country in the ways he sees fit! Please explain why anything is wrong with that." Sarah crossed her arms. "Besides, you are British. Everyone here is British. The colonies are an extension of Britain."

"We're not British, we're American. It's different."

"That's as idiotic as the tea demonstration. It is the king's government that keeps the New World afloat. Without it they couldn't survive."

"What about the quartering act? Soldiers can just live in somebody's house and they don't have to pay or anything!"

"I never said everything about England was perfect. I said that it is a stupid and foolhardy decision to think about revolution."

"I—"

The bell pealed and Sarah and James stood up, marching away from one another with their trays.

**a/n: The story James is thinking of is called the Samovar, and it is about Jewish people escaping Russia in the back of a chicken cart under a blanket. Sarah's views on private school are my own, and I have been asked if I go to Hogwarts more times then I can say. Just because we have a uniform including sweaters, a house system with house points, a start of term banquet, and a supposedly haunted bathroom doesn't mean...**

**wait a minute. I think I might go to Hogwarts.**


End file.
